The Designated Drivers
by ArrowandShield
Summary: Its not always easy to tell who is protecting who. Hint of CaptainHawk. Some TeamBonding. Asex!Clint. Straight!Steve.


**It's not always clear cut as to who is protecting who...**

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**The Designated Drivers**

The whole team knew that Steve couldn't get drunk. The alcohol processed far to fast for it to have an effect on the soldier's metabolism. It wasn't something that Steve particularly cared about or mourned the loss of, but it had earned him sad and sympathetic looks from most of the rest of the team.

Especially Tony and Thor, who considered drinking a lifestyle more than just a past time or a social activity. Steve wasn't entirely sure if being teased for the lack of drunkenness or if being pitied for it was worse.

Luckily the attention on his, as Tony dubbed it; Anti-Good Time Metabolism was very short lived. After Clint expressed his voluntary sobriety. Tony and Thor found it as a bit of an outrage. Lack of intoxication due to physicality that was one thing but choosing it was something else entirely. Clint had ignored the demand for why and to break his vow, he gave no explanation or reasoning just refused drink when it was offered, even going so far as to sniff at any glass that was handed to him. Wither it was habit to check for alcohol or for poisons Steve couldn't tell.

When they were alone Steve had asked why and Clint quietly told him that he didn't want to be anything like his father.

Steve understood, remembering the bitterly told story of Harold Barton. A heavy handed and vicious man that took to drink the same way that most men did water or air. The rages the man used to throw, bringing himself down on Clint, his mother, his little brother.

Steve didn't blame him, Steve felt a bit selfish for almost being glad for it. On those nights that the team decided that bonding and recuperation was better done with a bit of fermentation on the side. Instead of Steve left to sit feeling isolated and out of place at the table while the rest of the team took their fill of their favorites.

Thor full bottles of meads and pitchers microbrewed beers. Natasha straight vodka and spiced wines. Bruce anything imported from South America or Asia. Tony whatever was most expensive on the menu at the time.

It was nice to have company, Clint steadfast at his shoulder. They nipped at juice or soda, sometimes rootbeer floats or milkshakes if the bartender was in a particular gracious mood and watched the inebriated state of their teammates and friends deteriorate. Then the soldier and archer would bundle the other four up and get them home safely before heading home themselves. Or sometimes out for a walk or to second act some theater show or a cheap cut of coffee and lingering to listen to a radio for the baseball scores, anything in general to strike their fancy.

They had, by circumstance and choice, been made the designated drivers of the Avengers team. Quietly watching over and protecting the others as they took a few minutes luxury to let themselves go. It wasn't glamorous but it proved itself to be fun and interesting more than once. And Steve wasn't the type to lord anything over anyone but he certainly enjoyed watching Clint tease and hint and casually suggest at any number of truthful or imagined things that their friends got up to while they were 'to the wind' as Clint liked to say.

The archer certainly had enough pictures, videos and voice recordings on his phone to blackmail the rest of the team to the end of their natural lives… or at least the team thought so. Steve personally watched every night after such outings while Clint looked through any photos or videos he took, deleting almost everything and anything that could be a danger to their friends and the team. Only saving a few pictures here and there that could be considered memories or mementos.

And there was only one video. A recording of the team all caterwauling a rendition of Johnny Cash's 'Walk the Line'.

There were songs and stories, jokes and pranks, fights, breakdowns and a few times more than one of the members dissolving into tears and sobs. It wasn't perfect, but neither were any of them. They were a group of broken souls, each with their haunted pasts and somehow, this time with the bottle and bowls of cheap roasted nuts and broken pretzels they fostered and cemented their bonds together.

And when it was needed that bond proved to be far stronger than Steve or Clint could have suspected.

Long missions or combat of any kind usually meant a long sleepless night of nightmares lay ahead for all the Avengers. One of the many instances that the team gave reason to turning to drink. Their choice of bar had been fairly random. They had long since decided not to take up a favorite for fear of who or what it might attract. Sooner than later they would run out of bars to visit. It really wouldn't have been a huge loss. Tony had a stock to put the most prestigious liquor stores to shame, they liked the bars for the push and pull of humanity that came with. It kept them grounded in a way, to see what they worked and prepared and fought for in the living flesh. Even if it came along with the heavy smell of smoke and sweat and sex.

They had a booth all to themselves, Steve and Clint with their backs tucked safely into the corner where they could watch the door and the room and tall, frothy glasses of vanilla milkshakes in front of them. The rest of the team on their second round of Irish Carbombs and the table littered with the debris of a few hours drinking and empty baskets that had once been hot and honey wings and nachos. But there was no end to the river in sight with the way Tony was tipping their waitress.

The only downside of the night had been a particularly aggressive 'suitor' that had been sending Clint drinks and looks all night. The first and second one were accepted graciously but passed on to other members of the team. The rest were refused and it was starting to become annoying and a bit unsettling. The team together were making light of it up until the suitor had made his way over. He was no small guy, could have given Steve a run for his money. The stranger had ignored the rest of the team, told Clint how he'd admired the archer at the battle in Manhattan, that he'd felt inspired and invited Clint away from his friends to 'other accommodations'.

Steve had been startled and more than a little appalled at the strangers behavior. Before either the archer or soldier could react the combined wit and sharp tongues of Natasha and Tony had turned the stranger away fuming, flushed and scorned. Natasha had mumbled something in Russian and Tony something about pervy fangirl freaks.

Clint hadn't seemed too shaken by the encounter and before long they had settled back into conversation. Steve kept sending looks towards where he'd last seen the stranger and kept an arm braced across the back of the booth over Clint's shoulders.

The crowd in the bar was starting to quiet down and thin out a bit as the hour grew later and Clint gently slid by Steve as he dug his squashed pack of cigarettes from his pocket. The archer gave the soldier an apologetic look. It was the one habit the archer had that Steve disliked. He didn't do it often but when the stress was high and he was surrounded by the smell of smoke Clint gave in and would slip out for a drag. Steve returned the silent apology with a scornful but reassuring smile before his attention was dragged way by Bruce sitting next to him.

Clint silently wove his way through the thick of the crowd to head for the door and to slip into the alley to have a smoke.

Once Clint had stepped out the soldier had looked longingly after him. He almost didn't notice the silence around the table when Natasha flicked his ear. He looked around and they were all staring at him expectantly. The soldier had flushed and fidgeted.

Tony had reached across and lightly patted Steve on the head; slurred something about sweet innocence and puppy love. Before Steve could defend either himself or the absent archer Natasha had none to gently shoved him out of the booth and waved him towards the door. Steve left with the sounds of Tony and Bruce making kissy-faces and noises at his back.

The soldier slipped out to a fairly quiet street and looked back and forth, for a moment he was stricken with panic when he couldn't find the archer and called his name sharply.

A flash of dark gold hair as Clint stuck his head out from the side alley and called Steve over. The soldier flushed a bit and quickly made way to Clint's side, the archer turned his cigarette aside, blowing smoke down the alley. Steve wrinkled his nose at the bitter smell and Clint rolled his eyes, scolding him that what did he come out here for if he didn't like it.

Steve had only flushed a bit darker and shrugged a bit anxiously, murmuring something about being kicked out of the booth to come along. Clint smiled and laughed gently and apologized softly for the smoke, promising to finish quickly.

The soldier was reluctant to but ready to object… when they were joined by others in the alley. The familiar figure from earlier that night, the suitor that had been vying for Clint's attention. The brick wall of a man seemed to stand taller though he listed, heavily impaired from drink and obvious rage. Behind him another three, all equally bulky and drunk, growling and snarling like a pack of dogs.

Steve and Clint had tensed at the same time, ready to react. Four to two wasn't great odds, even for the two Avengers. The stranger snarled and spit a few curses, his voice and speech so heavily influenced that it didn't make sense. His movements were jerky and he roughly hurled his still half full glass of beer at the pair. His aim was wild, smashing into the brick at Clint's side, but the archer hissed as he took a few flying shards to the face.

Steve quickly caught Clint's hand to keep him from pawing at the glass in his face. The other hand clenched in a fist and ready for a fight. And a hard one as he watched the stranger and his three friends pull pocket knives, blades flashing in the city lights. Steve was thrown back in time for a moment, memories of similar beatings and brawls in allies and behind buildings, flooding through his mind.

He grit his teeth and tensed for the attack, ready to take the brunt of the fight for Clint.

But he didn't have to.

Before the pack of assailants could get a few steps staggered forwards they each collapsed into unconscious heaps. Standing in their place were Tony, Thor, Natasha and Bruce. They teetered a bit under the amount of alcohol they'd ingested, each with grim looks on their faces. They'd struck together, knocking the would be attackers out with a blow and putting them far beyond the threat they could have been.

Bruce picked his way passed the heap of reeking man-flesh, stumbling a bit and came over to check Clint's face, asking if they were alright as he gently pulled out a few shards of glass. Steve and Clint were still in a bit of shock, they switched their attention back and forth between Bruce and to where Tony was conducting Thor and Natasha on heaving the unconscious men into a large dumpster that reeked of rotting food from the Chinese eatery next door.

A few moments of doctoring, checking and rechecking, ensuring that Steve and Clint were safe and sound the team had stood around grumbling as if nothing had happened. Tony snarked that he hoped Clint and Steve had gotten all their kissing in because they're special alone time was up. They wanted to leave, the other four Avengers had nonchalantly declared that they didn't like bars anymore even if their were waitresses in the world that needed Tony to put them through college; they could drink at the Tower and if they wanted a crowd knew plenty of agents and officers that would jump at a night off with free food and alcohol.

Clint and Steve had gently corralled the other four, they were far less unruly than normal, the quick skirmish in the alley had been enough to sober everyone up a bit, Steve himself was still trying to force his heart to settle down a bit.

It was the end of Steve and Clint's roles as the designated drivers. It was a duty they would have happily continued without expectation of thanks or reciprocation, but they'd been permanently retired. A decision well out of their hands. It wasn't hard for the archer and soldier to agree, there was no need to argue when you'd seen the evidence that the ones you'd thought you were protecting were protecting you in return.

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**A/N: Little bit of team bonding over some drunk asshats there, hope you guys enjoyed!**


End file.
